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When all my joys complete in you I find,
Shall I not share the sorrows of your mind ?
O tell me, tell me all.--whence does arise
This flood of tears ? whence are these frequent sighs
Why does that lovely head, like a fair flower
Oppress’d with drops of a hard-falling thower,
Bend with its weight of grief, and seem to grow
Downward to earth, and kiss the root of woe?
Lean on my breast, and let me fold thee fast,
Lock'd in these arms, think all thy sorrows past;
Or what remain think lighter made by me;
So I should think, were I fo held by thee.
Murmur thy plaints, and gently wound my ears ;
Sigh on my lip, and let me drink thy tears ;
Join to my cheek thy cold and dewy face,
And let pale grief to glowing love give place.
O speak--- for woe in silence most appears ;
Speak, ere my fancy magnify my fears.
Is there a cause, which words can not express!
Can I not bear a part, nor make it less ?
I know not what to think---am I in fault?
I have not, to my knowledge, err'd in thought,
Nor wander'd from my love ; nor would I be
Lord of the world, to live depriv'd of thee.
You weep afresh, and at that word you start!
Am I to be depriv'd then ?---muft we part?
Curse on that word so ready to be spoke,
For through my lips, unmeant by me, it broke.
Oh no, we must not, will not, can not part,
And my tongue talks, unprompted by my heart.
Yet speak, for my distraction grows apace,
And racking fears and restless doubts increase;
And fears and doubts to jealousy will turn,
The hottest hell, in which a heart can burn.
AIR Amoret is gone astray';
Purfue and seek her, every lover; I'll tell the signs, by which you may The wandering fhepherdefs discover.
Coquet and coy at once her air,
Both study'd, though both feem neglected;
Carelefs she is with artful care,
Affecting to seem unaffected.
With skill her eyes dait every glance,
Yet change fo foon you'd ne'er suspect them;
For fhe 'd persuade they wound by chance,
Though certain aim and art direct them.
She likes herself, yet others hates
For that which in herself the prizes ;
And, while she laughs at them, forgets
She is the thing that the despises.
HEN Lesbia first I saw so heavenly fair,
so bright, and with that awful air,
I thought my heart, which durst so high aspire,
As bold as his who snatch'd cælestial fire.
But soon as e'er the beauteous idiot spoke,
Forth from her coral lips such folly broke,
Like balm the trickling nonsense heal'd my wound,
And what her eyes enthrall'd her tongue unboundo
DORIS, a nymph of riper age,
Has every grace and art, A wife observer to engage,
Or wound a heedless heart.
Of native blush, and rosy dye,
Time has her cheek bereft;
Which makes the prudent nymph supply
With paint th' injurious theft.
Her sparkling eyes she still retains,
And teeth in good repair ;
And her well-furnish'd front disdains
with borrow'd hair. Of size, she is nor short, nor tall,
And does to fat incline
No more, than what the French would call
Farther, her person to disclose
I leave--- let it suffice,
She has few faults, but what she knows,
And can with skill difguise.
lovers has refus'd,
With many more comply'd;
Which, like her cloaths, when little us'd,
She always lays aside.
She's one, who looks with great contempt
On each affected creature,
Whofe nicety would seem exempt
From appetites of nature.
She thinks they want or health or fenfe,
Who want an inclination ;
And therefore never takes offence
At him who pleads his passion,
Whom she refuses, she treats still
With so much sweet behaviour, That her refusal, through her skill,
Looks almost like a favour.
Since she this softness can express
To those whom she rejects,
She must be very fond, you ’ll guess,
Of such whom she affects :
But here our Doris far outgoes,
All that her sex have done ; She no regard for custom knows,
Which reason bids her fhun.
By reafon her own reason 's meant,
Or, if you please, her will : For, when this last is discontent,
The first is fery'd but ill. Peculiar therefore is her way ;
Whether by Nature taught, I shall not undertake to say,
Or by Experience bought. But who'o'er night obtain’d her grace,
She can next day disown,
And stare upon the strange man's face,
As one the ne'er had known.
So well she can the truth disguise,
Such artful wonder frame,
The lover or distrusts his eyes,
Or thinks 'twas all a dream.
Some censure this as lewd and low,
Who are to bounty blind;
For to forget what we bestow
Bespeaks a noble mind. Doris our thanks nor asks, nor needs :
For all her favours done From her love flows, as light proceeds
Spontaneous from the sun. On one or other still her fires
Display their genial force ; And she, like Sol, alone retires,
To shine elsewhere of course.